


call out my name

by taareds



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 15:16:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19337155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taareds/pseuds/taareds
Summary: Trent's not scared of Virgil.





	call out my name

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to the anons that prompted this x  
> Trentsreds.tumblr.com

Trent’s about to step into the dressing room at half time when a large hand grips his shoulder and pulls him back, keeps him in the corridor. He knows who it is before he even turns around and he takes the opportunity to quickly roll his eyes before he’s turned around roughly. 

Virgil’s glaring at him with fire in his eyes and Trent braces himself, squares his shoulders and lifts his chin. 

“What the  _fuck_  was that?”  

“I think they call it an assist,” Trent shoots back with a lazy shrug, trying his best not to show his fear. Virgil was terrifying when he was angry. Everyone brought up that video of Virgil screaming at him across the pitch, but up close it was even worse.

“You almost got a red.”

“Didn’t though.”

“You were fucking close!” Virgil shouts, a hand waving in the air in distress. 

Trent wishes for a split second Hendo would overhear and come out, remind Virgil that he’s captain, even though Hendo would probably have a go at him too, he’d at least do it in a nicer tone. “Fuck you-”

“And then they fucking scored anyway!”

“Yeah and where were  _you_? Disappeared didn’t you! It was in the centre, Virg, you’re the  _centre back_.” Trent can’t help it. Can’t keep his mouth shut at the best of times, but especially not when he’s being shouted at, he can’t just stand there and take it. On the rare occasion Klopp shouts at him he has to physically restrain himself from shouting back and only managed because his fear of disappointing someone is stronger than his anger at being shouted at. 

Virgil takes a step closer, crowding Trent against the wall and he honestly doesn’t know if he’s turned on or scared, can barely think straight when Virgil’s this close. “You wanna say that again? I was defending the - “

“Didn’t do a very good job, they scored twice.”

Trent could honestly punch himself in the face, and it looks like Virgil might too.

“You little  _shit_ ,” He snaps, “You really think you can just say what you want and just flash your eyes and get away with it, don’t you?“

“You’re so fucking hot when you’re mad,” Trent blurts out, unable to stop the words leaving his mouth.

Virgil pauses, surprised. He blinks and leans back slightly, giving Trent time to finally breathe and think and _shit. Did he really just say that?_  “What?”

“Uh.” Trent’s brain is conveniently silent now. 

Virgil’s lips are twitching in amusement, “You think that will get you out of this?”

Trent grins, quick and relieved. “Will it?”

Virgil shakes his head, “You’re a little weird you know that? Get off on being scared do you?” He asks, stepping closer again.

“Only when it’s you,” Trent says, because in for a penny, in for a fucking pound right?

Virgil looks surprised and delighted at that all at once, but then Hendo’s pulling the door to the dressing room open, “Fucking get in here, Gaffer’s waiting,” he snaps.

Trent jumps, immediately making his way inside, feels a smack on his ass and glances back at Virgil in time to see the older man give him a wink.  _So, so hot._

_-_

It’s three hours later and Trent’s standing in the middle of his living room staring back at Virgil who’s sat calmly on the couch, a glass in his hand that’s filled with coke because Trent didn’t have any alcohol and he felt dumb offering water.

Coke out of a 35p can from the corner shop probably wasn’t much cooler. 

“You just gonna stare at me?” Virgil asks. The only light in the room is from the TV, playing an old episode of Simpsons silently (Trent had only blushed a little when Virgil had walked in to see that on the TV and shot him a look like he was suddenly remembering how young Trent was) and Virgil’s face is half illuminated and he looks fucking hot and terrifying like some movie villain Trent doesn’t want to admit he’s got a crush on.  _He definitely has a crush._

“Well you’re just sat there. What am I meant to do?” Trent asks with a shrug, taking a step closer into the living room so that there’s only three feet between them. The air feels thick with tension and Trent feels like his skins on fire with it. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, where to put himself when Virgil’s looking at him like he’s undressing him in his head.

“You look scared.”

Trent makes a noise of disbelief, hoping it’s believable enough, “’M not.”

Virgil puts his drink down and stands up and Trent has to try really hard not to take a step back, lifting his chin and squaring his shoulders again. He’s not backing down.

Virgil smirks a little as he notices, eyes following Trent’s movements as he steps closer until they’re toe to toe. Trent’s eyes go up as he tries to maintain their eye contact and Trent’s never felt shorter. “So what was that you were saying before? About me being hot?”

“I don’t recall,” Trent says in his brattiest tone.

“Oh? I seem to remember you being all hot and flustered -”

“Don’t make shit up -”

“And you said I was hot as fuck when I was angry.”

Trent shrugs, “Yeah. Maybe. When you’re like this you’re pretty average.”

Virgil snorts in amusement, “Oh?”

He’s lying of course, Virgil could blink at him and Trent would turn to goo if he didn’t have an ounce of self control. He was however  _hotter_  when he was angry. But Trent wasn’t going to make him angry just for his own satisfaction. Definitely not. No. That would be weird. And immature.

“You did play kinda shit today though. I mean. Two goals went through pretty easily,” He finds himself saying without really thinking it through.

The smirk falls off Virgil’s face and Trent can tell he’s trying not to take him seriously. Reminding himself in his head that Trent’s a brat and just enjoys pushing his buttons.

“You’re supposed to be the best defender in the world aren’t you?” Trent asks and a little thrill runs up his spine from the way Virgil’s jaw clenches. His hands are twitching at his sides and something is twitching in Trent’s trousers. 

“Pretty easy goals to save to be honest. Did one of them dribble past you at one point?” He should definitely stop because he’s going to push him too far and piss him off for real. He should shut up.

“Bet Maguire would have stopped it.”

Virgil rolls his shoulders back, shaking his head, “You fucking - “

“He probably would have scored while he was at it t-oof” the breaths blown out of him suddenly as Virgil pushes him against the wall roughly, pinning him there with a strong arm across his chest.

“You think you’re real smart don’t you?” Virgil asks, pure fire in his eyes and Trent’s never been more turned on in his  _life_.

He tries for a shrug, smirk firmly in place, “A little, yeah.”

Virgil shakes his head with a soft laugh, leaning so close Trent’s going cross-eyed trying to meet his eyes. “You sound scared. Can feel your heart from here.”

“Your chest is pressed against mine,” Trent points out, voice tiny and he’s so so embarrassed and so so about to drop on his knees for Virgil Van fucking Dijk in his goddamn living room.

“Mhm. And you feel scared. And-” Virgil shifts so their hips are pressed together and oh my god, Trent’s going to die of embarrassment. Virgil grins brightly,  _evilly, the prick. “_ Oh. You definitely get off on being scared.”

“Only when it’s you,” Trent reminds him breathlessly before shaking his head just slightly. “Not scared though.”

“No?”

“Not scared. I swear,” Trent promises, pushing his hips against Virgil’s and oh shit. Maybe he should be scared cause Virgil’s pressed against his hip now and he doesn’t know where he plans on putting that because it’s way bigger than Trent had been imagining. He’d spent the thirty minutes he was waiting for Virgil to arrive getting himself ready and now he’s worried it’s not enough. 

“Maybe it’s the excitement,” Virgil says with a proud smirk, like he knows exactly what Trent’s thinking and Trent wishes he had the willpower - or desire - to tell him to leave just to prove him wrong. 

“You gonna do something about it or just tease me all night?” The right-back asked,  “Have I got to piss you off until you fuck me?” He asks, cause fuck being shy anymore. Virgil can feel just how excited he is, there’s no point trying to hide it and Virgil’s definitely as excited as he is so he’s not going to be embarrassed.

Virgil takes a step back and Trent takes the opportunity to try and get his breath back as subtly as possible. “Why don’t you put that smart mouth of yours to some good use for once?” He says. His eyes are hard and challenging but his tone’s softer than he’s ever heard it and Trent knows if he wanted to he could call this off right now. But he definitely, definitely doesn’t want to.

Trent licks his lips, glances down and the  _very_  noticeable bulge in Virgil’s trousers. “You have no idea how smart it is,” he winks before dropping to his knees without any further comment.

Virgil seems surprised for a second that Trent’s actually doing this and his hands scramble in the air, not sure where to place themselves before one gently settles in his hair. 

Trent huffs a soft laugh, “Who’s scared now?” He asks, pushing back against Virgil’s hand as he reaches up to pull at Virgil’s tracksuits, pulling the soft grey material down. 

Virgil actually does look nervous, he’s biting his lip so hard he’s going to hurt himself. “You don’t have to, you’re -” Trent’s already moving though, already pulling down his boxers too and staring with wide, hungry eyes at Virgil. 

“I’m already down here, Virg. You sure you wanna waste the opportunity?” He teases, wrapping a warm hand around Virgil’s length and blinking up at him. Virgil breaths in sharply, free hand coming up to rest on the wall as he closes his eyes tightly, jaw clenched. 

Trent wastes absolutely no time, using his hand and his tongue in ways Virgil tells him in heated whispers are absolutely  _sinful, how are you even able to do that?_  He keeps going until Virgil’s practically vibrating with need, hand so tight in Trent’s hair he thinks he’s finally gained some of the control back here, then Virgil pulls him off and onto his feet in one swift movement that Trent really  _doesn’t_  think is hot. The way Virgil’s muscles are flexing in his arm isn’t hot as fuck. It doesn’t make Trent want to lick every inch of that arm and beg Virgil to -

“Trent!” 

Trent blinks in surprise, eyes sliding to Virgil’s to see him watching him in soft bemusement and slight worry, “Alright there? Looking a little lost” 

“I want you to fuck me,” Trent blurts out as if that wasn’t obvious enough cause he just can’t seem to string his thoughts together enough to have a filter right now. 

The grin on Virgil’s face makes him regret it though,  _cocky fucker_. “I can tell,” He brushes a thumb across Trent’s cheek and he’s struck by the softness of it for a second. 

He can’t help but roll his eyes as he nods, “Yeah yeah, come on big man. You gonna do something with that or not?” he asks, nodding down to Virgil’s very naked bottom half. 

“Don’t call me that right now.” Virgil pulls Trent’s t-shirt off over his head and does the same to his own. 

“Why?” Trent grins, “You know why they call you it don’t you?” he asks cheekily, shoving his trousers down too. He’s buzzing, feels like he does right before a big game, his heart’s racing and he can’t wait to get started. 

“Cause I’m tall.” 

“Cause they secretly all want you to fuck them against a wall.” 

The words are barely out of Trent’s mouth before he’s being shoved against the wall again but this time Virgil’s lifted him and his legs wrap around Virgil’s waist on instinct and he has to let out a laugh of delight despite the sharp pain in his shoulder at the impact. He’s knows how big Virgil is, he’s seen him and admired him and stared at him for hours. But actually feeling the strength of his arms as Virgil held up against the wall like he weighed nothing was doing weird things to his imagination. 

“Shut up,” Virgil says with his lips pressed against Trent’s throat, voice deep and the kissing’s sweet and soft, but it’s not what he’s here for. 

“Why big man?” He goads, “You got a problem with it?” 

Virgil rolls his hips up harshly and Trent let’s out a gasp, embarrassing and loud, that makes the centre-back laugh. “What was that?”

“Shut up and get on with it,” Trent whined, lifting a hand to grip Virgil’s hair and pulling on it tightly.

Virgil winces before he starts moving, “Little shit,” he growls under his breath. It feels like forever before Virgil’s finally inside him and Trent tries to hold back his gasp because he can see Virgil’s satisfied smirk but he’s so big he can’t help it. His hand tightens in Virgil’s hair then he squeezes around him and laughs at the little choked off moan Virgil gives.

“You’re such a little brat,” Virgil tells him, pulling back slowly and slamming his hips up so fast and hard Trent chokes on his response.

“Yeah -“ he pants, free hand scrambling for purchase anywhere and ends up gripping Virgil’s shoulder, nails digging in.

“But fuck you’re so hot,” Virgil breathes as if he’s annoyed about that and Trent laughs again as Virgil starts up a steady rhythm, fast and so, so hard. He punctuates each roll of his hips with a tight squeeze of Trent’s, a hot tongue on his neck or teeth on his shoulder and Trent’s so overwhelmed he could cry but it still doesn’t stop his mouth running.

“Fuck, come on big man, I’m sure you can do better than that,” he teases through heavy pants even though if Virgil does do better this will be over in half a second.

This is Virgil Van Dijk though and Virgil Van Dijk doesn’t back down from a challenge. One moment Trent’s against the wall and the next he’s on the soft rug on his living room floor on his hands and knees and he can barely catch up before Virgil’s right behind him and - “fuck”- he gasps. He ignores the pleased laugh Virgil lets out at his reaction and let’s him have the control because it’s just too good not to. Virgil fucks like he plays, fast, determined, controlled and so fucking good. 

He feels like every nerve he has is on fire and Virgil’s making it a hundred times worse and a hundred times better with each thrust and Trent still can’t shut up. “Not bad,” he manages to say before Virgil’s hand is shoving his face into the rug too with a tight grip on his neck and Trent tries really hard to hold back but two more thrusts from Virgil and he’s coming with a long groan of Virgil’s name that’s only a little embarrassing. 

His ears are ringing and his breaths embarrassingly loud and he feels boneless, wants to collapse on the carpet and sleep there but he’ll be damned if he lets Virgil win this. It takes all his energy to lift his head enough to hear Virgil’s soft groan as he keeps thrusting and Trent gives him a second before he reaches back and pushes at his hip until Virgil gets the message and pulls back. “You okay?” He pants.

When Trent turns around he looks vaguely worried and his hairs out of place and he looks more unsettled than Trent’s ever seen him. He huffs a laugh and shoves at Virgil, “Lie down,” he instructs with a roll of his eyes.

“Don’t know how you think you have the power here,” Virgil huffs, rubbing a hand over his brow as he stares at Trent with narrowed eyes, “Sitting there with my com-”

“Shut up and lie down,” Trent huffs in the most annoyed tone he can manage while his cheeks are flushing bright red. 

Virgil finally gets with the programme and does so, eyes still slightly confused before lighting up when Trent straddles him, grips him in one hand and sinks down in one swift movement that has Virgil groaning loudly. 

Trent can’t help the satisfied smirk on his face at Virgil’s reaction and he starts moving quickly, not giving him a second to recover. Clearly he’s worked Virgil up just as much though, because not even two minutes later the defender’s hands are gripping Trent so tight he’ll  _definitely_  be changing into his kit in private for the next week, and he’s thrusting his hips up to meet Trent’s and he’s gasping his name in rhythm to each shift of his hips,  _Trent, Trent, Trent - fuck._

Virgil’s hands drop to Trent’s thighs, resting there lifelessly as his eyes slip shut and he’s clearly trying to get his breath back but all Trent can think about is how beautiful he is. He’s glowing with sweat or the lighting or something and he’s so fucking beautiful Trent can’t help himself as he leans down to run a finger across his cheek. 

Virgil’s eyes blink open and he smiles lazily, staring back at him silently. 

Trent flushes, pulls his hand back and shifts so he’s on his knees, staring down at Virgil. His eyes are so intense Trent can’t look away but it’s too much when they’re sat here covered in each other’s body fluids and stark naked in his living room staring into each other’s eyes. 

“You’re welcome,” he says with an easy wink, dropping clumsily to lay next to Virgil on the floor. 

Virgil laughs, loud and uninhibited and Trent grins in response. “ _I’m_  welcome? I did all the work until the last five minutes.”

“First of all, cute that you think you lasted five minutes -” He ignores Virgil’s sharp elbow to his side for that and continues, “And you’re welcome for the pleasure of fucking me.”

Virgil’s smiling at him like he can’t decide whether to strangle or kiss him and Trent’s not sure which is more arousing or frightening. “You’re the most annoying brat I’ve ever met.”

Trent shrugs, standing up with a sharp slap to Virgil’s chest. “You’re still welcome.” He pauses when a hand wraps around his ankle, firm and warm. 

“Next time you can do all the work then.” 

“Oh?”

“Well it’s not the worst way to celebrate a win.” 

Virgil looks slightly unsure and Trent’s more surprised by that then anything that’s happened so far tonight and ending his evening with a naked Virgil Van Dijk in his living room really had been the last thing he’d been expecting when he woke up that morning. 

“Oh, no definitely. I meant the bit about me doing all the work,” Trent clarifies with a smirk, nudging his shoulder slightly until Virgil releases his ankle so he can walk to the bathroom. “I don’t do that.”

He very distinctly hears Virgil call him a spoiled brat, but he doesn’t plan to argue the label when a simple pout convinces Virgil to make them both dinner before he’s pinning Trent to several other surfaces in his house  _and_  doing all the work. 


End file.
